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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28337754">Letting Go</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/constellxtions/pseuds/constellxtions'>constellxtions</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shameless (US)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>11x03, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gap Filler, Hurt Ian Gallagher, Husbands, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Protective Mickey Milkovich, Season 11, don’t worry they get high at the end, mentions of bipolar disorder</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:08:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,958</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28337754</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/constellxtions/pseuds/constellxtions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>And it’s then that the guilt overwhelms him. If he lets himself think about it, to really feel it, he can clearly sense it under his skin. The remorse. It’s just a second and it falls fiercely on him. And what he feels in that moment isn’t good. It isn’t good at all. He hears Ian’s defeated voice. He’s telling him that he quit, he’s giving up; he’s asking, without even saying a word about it, a shoulder to cry on. And what does he do? He taunts him, he provokes him. He lets him down. So maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised by his reaction. He shouldn’t be mad for the fight, really. Maybe, at the end of the day, he had deserved every punch.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ian Gallagher &amp; Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>191</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Letting Go</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The title comes from Philip Roth's novel of the same name. I suck at naming my fics and I really loved that book, so.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Utter silence.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s what falls on the Gallgher’s kitchen as soon as the last word escapes from Lip’s mouth. His voice leaves them all speechless, even a person as unimpressionable as Mickey. He stays there still, at the kitchen counter, a plate full of lasagna in one hand and a pack of frozen peas in the other, pressed against his forehead. His eyes search on instinct for Ian, even though </span>
  <em>
    <span>that dickhead </span>
  </em>
  <span>is the reason he’s holding a bag of frozen peas against his face, to begin with. But Ian can’t see him, turned as he is towards the other side of the room. He’s sitting there, slouched in his chair, balancing a bag of peas identical to his on his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey can see his look. He’s embarrassed and at the same time he seems to be definitely exhausted. Ironic, since it is his fault if they are now looking for some relief in some fucking peas. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ironic, really.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His attention is diverted from his husband’s face by a familiar sound of footsteps. He already knows who it is even before turning in her direction. The only word he finds in that exact moment to describe Sandy is </span>
  <em>
    <span>pissed</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Then he also adds </span>
  <em>
    <span>disappointed.</span>
  </em>
  <span> But his cousin doesn’t say a word, she just looks at Lip, full of resentment. And then Sandy’s gone. And it is just a matter of a minute, two at most, and only Ian and Liam are seated at the kitchen table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Mickey reaches them, Ian finally sits up from that fucking position that made Mickey’s back ache just looking at him. He sits straight on his chair and reaches out an arm to his youngest brother. Once he’s sat in front of them, Mickey sees the look of guilt and defeat on Liam’s face. For fuck’s sake, he is like eleven years old. What the fuck did Debbie expect from him? Sure, Mickey had been through worse at Liam’s age, he had been beaten up by his father at least ten times by then. But here, in the Gallagher house, it should be different. Here people love each other. Back at his place no one loved anyone. Sure, Mickey would have smashed the face of whoever only tried to do something bad to Mandy and that asshole of his brother, Iggy, wasn’t really that bad when he shut his fucking mouth. But he would never describe any of this as </span>
  <em>
    <span>loving each other.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Not at all. Loving each other was something completely different. It was Ian and Lip at the kitchen table in the morning right before going to work, talking about nothing in particular. It was Ian, showing people pictures of Carl who just made his first arrest. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fucking cop</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was all of them, taking care of Franny when Debbie was too busy doing who knows what, who knows where. Loving each other are Ian and Liam in this exact moment, in front of his eyes. Is Ian’s hand on his brother’s head, shaking his shoulder and then lifting his chin to make him look at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey. Don’t worry about it. You know what Debbie’s like sometimes. It’s not your fault. It is not your job to look after her daughter.” His husband’s voice is so extremely gentle and soft. Apprehensive. He curses that voice, though. Fuck Ian and his fucking voice. Fuck his voice, able to make him forget every fucking time every reason he should be pissed at him. And the only thing he really wants, in that moment, is to be pissed at Ian, wait for Liam to go upstairs to make it really clear. But that voice makes him forget everything. The fight, every fucking punch. All these things escape his mind and leave space for one thing only, for only one feeling. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Love</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Unconditional love for that dickhead of his husband. Even if that voice is not for him. And damn, it has been a long fucking time since that voice was addressed to him. And he misses it. He misses it a lot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it’s then that the guilt overwhelms him. If he lets himself think about it, to really </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he can clearly sense it under his skin. The remorse. It’s just a second and it falls fiercely on him. And what he feels in that moment isn’t good. It isn’t good at all. He hears Ian’s defeated voice. He’s telling him that he quit, he’s giving up; he’s asking, without even saying a word about it, a shoulder to cry on. And what does he do? He taunts him, he provokes him. He lets him down. So maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised by his reaction. He shouldn’t be mad for the fight, really. Maybe, at the end of the day, he had deserved every punch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Ian has been so silent on the way back home. No cheap shot, no fucking joke. Just… nothing. Maybe that was the worst thing of that damn day. Mickey could bear every nasty fucking comment, really. But not the silence. He could bear the wrinkles forming on Ian’s forehead and the overly dramatic way he frowned. But he could not tolerate his face. Blank. Empty. And it’s not that he couldn’t bear the thing itself. Ian was beautiful whatsoever. But he couldn’t bear what that blank expression meant. And it never meant anything good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So now, as Liam decides that is the most reasonable time to go to sleep and the whole house falls into that deafening silence once again; as Ian lowers his head and starts fidgeting with his wedding ring, Mickey does the only thing he has the guts to do in that moment, the only thing that feels so natural and familiar. He’s afraid to speak, afraid of what may come out of his fucking mouth. So he reaches out a hand across the table and takes one of Ian’s hands in his. Ian’s long fingers immediately tighten around his and Mickey could swear that he feels his lungs filling up with air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gesture gives him the courage to stand and sit instead on the chair Carl had earlier been sitting on. He doesn’t let go of Ian’s hand as he does it and now he is so close that he feels breathless again. Their knees touch so slightly but it’s enough for Mickey to </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>him and he can do nothing but look at him, look at his face so sad, at the freckles covering his face. He knows each one of them by heart now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If there is one thing he really hates is seeing Ian like this. That’s why he raises the hand that is not in Ian’s grip and runs it through his hair, twisting his short curly hair in his fingers, secretly hoping to give him some kind of comfort. But when Ian’s face contracts so horribly, when he tightens the grip on his hand and rests his forehead on it, Mickey feels something inside him break.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ian, fuck.” His sobs are horrible, the way his body is trembling something unbearable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey tries to get as close to him as possible and Ian must have sensed that because his head is against Mickey’s chest in an instant and his red hair brushes against his mouth. Mickey’s hand, first held in Ian’s, drops on the table. In exchange, he feels Ian’s arms around his waist, tightening and tightening. And the most terrifying thing is the fact that this is absolutely not something that Ian… does. Ian is strong, brave, he does not cry like this. He didn’t even during the worst period of his life, after his diagnosis. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So maybe that’s why when Mickey’s arms squeeze Ian’s body in turn, he feels his own hands slightly shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ian, come on. It’s okay.” He presses his lips to his hair and he finds himself hoping with all his heart that this isn’t a depressive episode.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ian… I know I… the things I say, you know I don’t mean them. I don’t know why I do it and… I shouldn’t have said-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not that, Mick.” He interrupts him, and his voice is nothing more than a long cry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey feels something burning inside his throat, a tingle at the base of his eyes. In his head he curses Ian for making him so vulnerable. A </span>
  <em>
    <span>Milkovich</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But he’s not going to cry. He’s not. So he swallows that huge lump in his throat and moves his hands from Ian’s back to his face. He rests them on his cheeks and lifts up his face. But Ian is not looking at him. He isn’t even sobbing anymore, but the tears keep streaming down his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His first instinct is kissing him. So he kisses him, gently. A single touch of lips. Ian’s are wet, they leave a salty taste on his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey. Look at me. What’s going on, uh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian raises his head and finally looks him straight in the eyes. His eyes are green and swollen and Mickey feels himself break for the millionth time that day. Ian’s lips are slightly open as he tries to breathe normally again. Mickey caresses his cheek and Ian takes his hand in his own. He inhales deeply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… I don’t know. I think I’m tired.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And here it is again, that feeling. It creeps up on him suddenly, just as Ian’s words leave his mouth. He feels his own heartbeat growing faster and faster and faster and he can’t do anything about it but hoping that Ian doesn’t notice. He tries to focus his attention on the giant freckled hand squeezing his own; on the wedding ring around Ian’s finger. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ian is tired of him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was inevitable, after all, right? Everyone gets tired of Mickey Milkovich. The Southside scum. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m tired because I feel like such a failure, Mickey.” Mickey’s taken aback by his words. He was expecting anything at that point, really. But not this.
Ian’s voice is firm as the words leave his mouth, but Mickey can hear it, the emotion. In every single word. He waits for Ian to go on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was an EMT, Mickey. And now I work ten hours a day in a fucking warehouse. Ten hours I don’t even get paid appropriately for! And that’s not all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey’s caught by surprise when Ian let’s go of his hand and stands up. He starts pacing back and forth in the kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not only I have to break my back every day for a shitty paycheck, but I also have to put up with my asshole boss who calls me a bitch!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the fuck did he just say? </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Is that why you quit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that’s when Ian raises both his arms and </span>
  <em>
    <span>laughs</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Mickey knows he’s pissed, but still; that laugh makes him shiver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that’s right! I fucking quit! I threw fucking cereal at him, that piece of shit! Oh, and it felt good, Mickey. You don’t even imagine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey understands him, really. Had that happen to him, he would have probably smashed that fucking asshole’s face. Fuck, he wants to smash that asshole’s face right now, to be honest. He wouldn’t think twice about kicking the ass of anyone who’d dare touching or even just insulting Ian. But now Ian has started walking in circles again and Mickey feels that his head is on the verge of exploding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For fuck’s sake, Ian. Sit down. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Ian stops. He glances at Mickey and then takes a look around himself. He seems… </span>
  <em>
    <span>lost</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But then he nods and sits down again. And as he does just that their thighs brush against one another and just that simple touch sparks a thousand emotions in Mickey’s body. Ian isn’t looking at him, but he doesn’t try to make him. Instead, he just grabs his hand and squeezes it. Then, feeling extremely bold, he brings it to his lips and kisses it. When he glances back at Ian, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>asshole</span>
  </em>
  <span> is grinning and Mickey swears he can feel his own cheeks on fire. He smiles anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian does not speak and neither does he. They just stay there like this for a little bit, their hands intertwined together, both with their eyes down. Ian is slightly trembling and when Mickey finally looks at him, he finds those green eyes in front of him, looking straight at him. Straight through his body. Straight through his soul. He swallows the new lump that has formed in his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… I think I had that reaction because he called me like that, and you… you did the same earlier and I…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey had already figured it out, actually. He figured it out as soon as he pushed Ian’s body from his earlier that morning. As soon as Ian looked at him like that. Like he was afraid. And still, he kept teasing him. And then Ian exploded and </span>
  <em>
    <span>could he really blame him?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>This time is Mickey who looks down. Being vulnerable is still difficult, at times. But he needs to learn how to let go. He needs to let his insecurities go, eventually. Ian deserves it but… he deserves it too. After all those years that he spent hiding, now he has the chance to be vulnerable with the person he loves more than anything. He owes it to that little six year old kid who was beaten up by his father for the first time; to that ten year old kid who was forced to smoke a joint for the first time by his older brothers; to that eighteen year old boy who locked himself in his room, falling prey of a panic attack, covered in bruises from head to toe, after having been raped by a Russian whore in front of the boy he fell in love with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now, all Mickey wants is to be honest, he doesn’t want to be afraid. He doesn’t, because he has no reason to be, now. Now everything’s good. Everything’s good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ian, I… I’m sorry, fuck. I don’t know why I said those things.” He inhales deeply. “Fuck, I’m going to sound like a fucking thirteen year old girl in love, but… you know you’re everything for me, right? I have loved you since I was like… for fuck’s sake, 17 years old?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian is looking at him now and Mickey’s legs go limp. Ian starts smiling again, even if just slightly, and for Mickey is like coming back to the surface, coming up for air. It’s like breathing again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think my head isn’t working very well anymore…” He runs a hand over his face, through his hair and inhales. His right leg is trembling almost subtly, but to Mickey it seems like someone has taken the earth out from under his feet. “I don’t know. Maybe there are too many things happening and I don’t know anymore how to handle them.” He takes Mickey’s hand and squeezes it. “What I’ve done, at the Alibi… it’s not fair, like at all. It’s horrible, actually and… and I feel like shit for that and I’m sorry, ok? I’m so sorry, Mickey. I mean it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey doesn’t really know what to say. He doesn’t know what to say because no one has ever apologized to him for beating him up, especially not when he knew he deserved it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And his reaction is the usual, by now. It’s become his second nature. And he really can’t bear seeing Ian like this. So he takes his face in his hands and he kisses him. He kisses him and he kisses him until he can’t breathe. And now he knows that Ian knows. Now it’s Mickey who squeezes his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, Ian. I’m not mad, okay? I said all those things and I’m sorry. I understand why you did that and it’s okay.” He takes his face in his hands once again. “If you feel like this might be,” he inhales deeply, “a manic episode, we call the doc first thing in the morning, alright?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian nods. He has his eyes closed, but he nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And maybe next time tell me, so I will avoid making stupid fucking jokes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian looks at him and he smiles. He starts giggling, even, and it’s like someone finally put the earth back in its place. “Fuck you, man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stay like this, hand in hand, in silence. Mickey doesn’t have the slightest idea of how much time has passed before he decides he has had enough of it. So he squeezes Ian’s hand, making him look up at him. “Hey. It’s going to be fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian nods. And as they sit there doing nothing, Mickey slides a hand in his pocket to take his cigarettes, but what he finds is way better. Something he completely forgot about since the moment he and Ian walked out from the Alibi. V’s brownie. Fuck, that thing must be completely stuffed with weed. Maybe that’s what they need. Get high.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he knows he’s not the only one thinking about it because when he looks up Ian is staring at him with that adorable grin on his face. So he throws the brownie at him and takes the other one from his other pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damn it. They will think about their problems tomorrow. The only thing he wants to do now is be with Ian, eat those fucking brownies and forget, only for this night, all of their problems, their bickering, their fights. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This night, they were going to get high, to laugh like idiots and fuck. Oh, and Mickey was going to make sure Ian knows just how much he appreciates him.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! Hope you liked it. Feel free to let me know what you think!<br/><a href="https://twitter.com/constellxtions_">Twitter</a> ♡</p></blockquote></div></div>
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